Open Your Eyes
by LeisaTheGreat
Summary: Bucky has always found it necessary to worry about Steve. Namely because of his alarming tendency for getting into trouble and getting hurt. But this time takes the cake, without a doubt. ONESHOT. No slash.


**Open Your Eyes**

_**A/N: This isn't slash but it is total bromance/overwhelmingly fluffy friendship. And feels. ALL the feels.**_

* * *

Bucky has always found it necessary to worry about Steve. Maybe it's because the first time they met, the little punk was getting his face smashed in my a group of thugs. Or maybe because he doesn't have a cautious bone in that scrawny little body of his. Of course, it could also be his severe lack of a functional immune system, his debilitating asthma, or his tendency of forgetting that he doesn't have to stand up for every underdog he sees. But regardless of what it is that _makes_ him so protective of his best friend, Bucky has _always_ found a reason to be worried for Steve's safety.

So when they hear the news, it's not his impending departure Bucky is dreading. It's the fact that Steve is going to be left to his own self-righteous accord. For a whole two weeks. And with _his_ track record, he'll probably have a few less teeth and at least a couple of broken bones when Bucky finally returns from the army base, where he's to be stationed in case he's ever called in to join the war.

And now, three days after having received the notice, the two of them are standing in the narrow entryway of their run-down tenement, Bucky's duffel bag sinking into the dull, brown carpet that peels up in the corners just enough to drive them both crazy. The faded grey walls barely wide enough for the young soldier to stand squared off between them without his shoulders clipping both sides at once.

Of course, Steve doesn't have that problem since he's a whole head shorter than Bucky and about half his weight. But he still looks incredibly uncomfortable as the two of them say their temporary goodbyes and the half-hearted smile on his face isn't fooling anyone.

"Just...don't do anything stupid until I get back, okay?" Bucky grumbles, a pinch between his cool blue-grey eyes as they sweep over the younger man's face.

"How could I?" Steve asks, trying not to sound too down. After all, two weeks isn't all _that_ long. It might be the longest they've been apart since the day they met, but he'll survive. "You're takin' all the stupid with you."

An amused smirk touches the corners of Bucky's lips and he shakes his head, suddenly wrapping an arm around Steve's shoulders. "You're a punk." He mumbles as his friend returns the embrace.

"Jerk..." Steve sighs, patting his friend's back a couple of times. And then they part and Bucky leans down to grab his duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder before giving one last warning look to the young man who he's always considered a brother.

"Seriously, stay out of trouble." He tells him.

"I will, _mother_." Steve retorts dryly with a roll of his eyes. "Try not to break too many hearts in Virginia."

And to that, Bucky snickers and winks at him, turning to leave so he won't miss his train. "No promises." He says as he tugs open the thin, aged door and steps out into the hallway, which creaks below his weight and always smells of cabbage and onions. "See you in two weeks, pal."

"Good luck." Steve says, finally managing a full smile as Bucky heads for the stairs that will take him down all five floors of their tenement then out to the street. He probably won't waste money on a taxi since the train station is only a few miles down the road, close enough to rattle the floor of their apartment every time a locomotive pulls through. Steve isn't entirely sure why Buck was called to the army base or what he intends to do there. He's not even sure if _Bucky _knows why he's going. All he knows is his friend is going to be gone for two weeks. ...and that this is going to be the longest two weeks of his life.

* * *

As was expected, Steve is miserable with his pal away. It's the middle of summer and for the entire two weeks, the air is so hot and thick it makes his asthmatic chest tighten painfully and his breaths come out in wheezing rasps. Although he doesn't suffer from a full-blown attack -which is miracle in and of itself- he still doesn't want to risk walking the streets and making himself worse. So he stays inside, laying in front of the open window to keep cool as he sketches pictures of the New York skyline. Far below him, he can hear the sound of people talking and laughing, music filtering in from a lower floor of the tenement, cars and buses rumbling by...

Eventually, after days of laying around and trying not to let his own lunges suffocate him, he ponders waiting until evening -when the air is cooler and less of a trigger- to go out job hunting. Bucky always insists there's no point; they have just enough to make their rent and put food on the table with only him working. Besides, no one would hire Steve except for a factory, due to his wide variety of illnesses that would make him miss practically every other day. And working all day in a hot, sweaty place like that would kill Steve. Literally kill him. Factories are dangerous places where people die every single day. All it would take is one asthma attack, standing in the wrong place at the wrong time... Steve could die in a place like that and Bucky simply isn't willing to risk it.

But in Steve's mind, there's got to be _something_ he can do! Millions of people in this country have asthma and _they_ work! After all, what if Bucky _does_ get sent to war? He'll need to support himself. And so one evening, he gets dressed and heads out to search. He knows Bucky is right and working in a factory will be the death of him so he'll just have to find something else. Anything else, really.

* * *

It's dark out by the time he returns to the apartment. Tired, wheezing...and still jobless. Turns out, Bucky wasn't wrong. Steve must have tried at least fifteen different places and all it took was one look at his scrawny frame and pale, sickly complexion for them to instantly turn him down. They need workers who can show up reliably, not someone who will have to go home early because they can't breathe or because they're running a raging fever.

So Steve miserably climbs the five flights of stairs up to the top of their tenement, cursing each and every step and wondering why, oh why, he tried so hard to convince Bucky to accept this place. Sure, the rent is cheap and it has a great view of the city...but for _heaven's sake_ this is tiring. Especially for someone who has just walked the entire perimeter of the city searching for work when there is none to begin with. Then again, they don't call it a depression for nothing, even if they are coming out of it now.

Eventually, he reaches his door and pushes it open, tiredly stumbling inside and immediately throwing himself on the couch. Steve sighs in both relief and misery. Relief to be off his feet and misery because he's still completely reliant on Bucky. Even if Bucky is one hundred percent happy to care for him and will probably be pleased when he finds out Steve failed to find work and has, in the process, proved him completely right. But still...he wishes he had some way to contribute other than "shining Bucky's shoes every once in a while and taking out the trash".

Unfortunately, there is no room in the work force for a ninety pound asthmatic with no special skills other than doodling the New York skyline and getting himself beaten into a pulp by every thug he comes across... It's this depressing thought he falls asleep to, only vaguely remembering the good news once he's too drowsy to comprehend it.

_Bucky's coming home tomorrow!_

* * *

Steve is still fast asleep on the couch when the door to the apartment creaks open. A near-silent pair of feet creep in through the entryway, their owner trying his best to be quiet. He knows who lives here, saw him walking the streets earlier today. He's scrawny and weak and will be absolutely no fight at all if it comes down to it. Hopefully, though, the owner won't wake up and become the wiser until the burglar is long gone... However, what the robber hadn't been expecting is the sight of Steve stretched out on the couch right in front of him! After all, don't people usually sleep in _beds_?!

Surprised, he stumbles backwards and is about to turn around and leave...when he smacks right into the edge of the kitchenette counter, yelping in pain as its sharp corner digs into his hip. Then, he freezes, heart pumping at the sound of Steve stirring on the couch.

"Mm? Bucky?" The groggy young man grumbles. "You're back kinda early..." Steve yawns and shifts on the couch, his eyes squinting through the dark to see the figure standing motionless and rigid in front of him. "Buck? You okay?" He asks, curious as to why he's not moving or saying anything.

But that's when he notices. The red curls adorning the man's head, completely unlike Bucky's dark brown hair. As well as the way he's dressed in all black and gripping...a knife on his hip.

Steve's stomach twists in fear at the realization and his half-asleep mind is still thinking of his next move...when the burglar turns to face him, his brown eyes slightly panicked below shaggy, ginger bangs. And Steve slowly sits up, his hands moving to the air to show he isn't a threat. "Uhh...listen, you don't have to-I mean, I'm not gonna-" But before he can finish, the man lunges forward, grabbing him by the collar of his suit, which he fell asleep in.

"I'm not gonna go to prison!" The robber growls, low and angry in his ear. "I won't!"

"No, I wasn't going to-" However, Steve's careful insistence is cut short as pain explodes in his side. He screams, eyes twisting shut against the agony. And before he knows what's happening...he's on the floor. Gripping his ribs as blood gushes between his fingers and the edges of his vision begin to go dark. It's only then that he recalls the knife that had been in the burglar's hand. Because now it's sticking out of his side, even the handle smeared with red.

As the world begins to fade around him, Steve hears the sound of the robber sprinting down the steps...and an alarmed female voice at his doorway. More voices soon join hers but he doesn't get a chance to recognize any of them. Because within seconds, darkness swallows him up. And he tiredly welcomes it as an escape from the horrible burning, gushing, throbbing pain.

* * *

Camp Lehigh is a pretty nice place, all things considered. Nestled within the Virginia mountains and the soldiers that are trained there are always trained right. Bucky would know, after all. But after two weeks at the place, he's ready to leave. Ready to return to his shabby home in New York and his best friend who's probably been bored out of his mind for the past fourteen days. So when that morning rolls around, Bucky packs his things and practically runs the entire way to the train station, anxious to get home and have things go back to normal. There's so much he can't wait to talk about with Steve and, knowing the little punk, he'll probably have a few smart things to say about it... But, in all, it's with a smile that Bucky boards his train and sits down on the leather seat, his fingers drumming excitedly as the cars pull away onto the tracks, rumbling to life and steadily carrying him home.

_Hopefully he hasn't gotten into too much trouble without me. _Bucky muses with a grin. He turns his head to the window, smirking wistfully at the sight of the blue, smoke-like mist that covers the mountains. It almost seems to glow in the early hours of the morning and he finds it beautiful. _Steve would have a ball drawing this. _He decides, chuckling quietly as he closes his eyes to get a few more hours of sleep.

* * *

When he finally arrives back in New York, Bucky is nearly buzzing with excitement. He _should_ be tired, it's only 5AM. He _should_ want nothing more than to flop onto the bed and sleep for three days. And in some distant part of his young muscles, he does feel that way and he knows he'll sleep deep and long tonight... But for now, all he cares about is getting home and telling Steve about his tour of the base.

He doesn't bother catching a taxi, he never does. It costs too much for such a short trip. So he slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and starts walking, a pleased smile on his clean-shaven face at the thought of a stir-crazy, cabin-fever-stricken Steve eagerly awaiting his return. And soon, the very top floor of his tenement building comes into view and those windows he can see all the way from here are his. It's strange, though. The lights don't appear to be on.

Bucky considers the possibility that Steve is still sleeping or maybe being out on the town, but quickly denies it. He knows for a fact that Steve will be just as excited to see Bucky as Bucky is to see him and he probably woke up at three simply out of eagerness. So then what does that mean? Could he have gotten sick and is trying to sleep it off? Possibly. Actually, that makes more sense than anything. Poor guy has a fever a hundred-eighty days out of three hundred sixty-five a year and is suffering from some other assorted ailment many more than that.

The young Soldier shakes his head and sighs, picking up pace. Hopefully it isn't too bad. Especially in this heat. A combination like that could land Steve in the hospital and they simply can't afford more bills. Of course, if it does happen, they'll make it work. They always do.

* * *

Now, understand that Bucky is used to women staring at him. He encourages it, even. With sly winks and charming smiles. But _this_ is a bit out of hand. It's like the second he opens the door to the tenement building, all eyes flash to him. And it's not only the women either. The men stare as well, their expressions ranging from concern to disappointment as he slowly, awkwardly enters the room. Plus, it's still so early. Why is everyone awake? What's going on?

He doesn't ask them what's wrong and none of them stop him from heading to the stairs. He simply isn't that well acquainted with any of his neighbors, tending to spend the majority of his time either at work, dancing with pretty girls, or staying at home with Steve. So, as would be expected, the two buddies are pretty much the odd-men-out of the apartment. No one talks to them and they don't talk to anyone else. And until now, Bucky's been fine with that.

But as he climbs the stairs, his heart beginning to thump nervously -because _why_ are they staring at him and _what_ happened- he starts wishing he knew someone he could ask other than Steve, who is four floors away now. Obviously, his mind goes to his family. What few remaining relatives he has. Could one of them been hurt or...or worse? But how would any of these people know? In fact, he doesn't even _register_ the possibility of it being Steve until he reaches the fifth floor...and finds his door roped off...

"Oh no..." He breathes, pure panic setting in as he drops his bag and goes to the door, eyes taking in the rope that was obviously put there by police to keep out curious onlookers. But he's no curious onlooker. He _lives_ here. And so does his best friend... So Bucky twists the handle of the apartment, thankfully finding it unlocked, and pushes it open. The room inside is dark so he steps over the police rope and enters the tenement...his hands shaking when he rounds the corner...and finds the faded, brown carpet stained red. "Oh God..." He nearly whimpers, covering his mouth with a trembling hand as he backs up toward the door again, his hip bumping the corner of the counter like it always does. But this time, he doesn't even feel the pain. Because where the _hell_ is Steve!?

* * *

He's numb as he stumbles through the hospital's large, glass doors. And he must look horribly shaken because the young woman at the front desk stands to greet him and looks him over with concerned eyes before asking,

"How can I help you, sir?"

"M-my friend..." He mutters raggedly. "S-Steve Rogers. Please tell me here's here..." _And not in the morgue. _Bucky leans himself on the counter because he's shaking like a leaf from panic and the exhaustion that has finally set in.

The receptionist nods her head and looks down at something on her desk that he can't quite see. He hears papers flipping and she 'hms' a couple of times. "No, I'm sorry." She says. "No one by the name of Steve Rogers." She opens her mouth to continue speaking, probably to ask if he's going to be okay, but he interrupts her. His voice nearly a shout when he demands,

"_CHECK AGAIN!_"

"Sir, I-"

"_CHECK. AGAIN._"

She glares at him but does as he asks, an angry pucker to her lips as she flips through her clipboard for a second time. The woman draws in a breath, about to tell him no again...when she remembers. "Wait! What does your friend look like?"

Bucky frowns, not understanding the relevance but willing to cooperate if it means finding Steve. "About a head shorter than me, ninety pounds, blonde hair..."

And a look of recognition sparks in her eyes. "Yes, I'm _so _sorry!" She says, returning to her clip board and then writing something down. "The cops who brought him in were apparently in a bit of hurry, I didn't get his name down correctly. But he _is_ here."

Bucky growls in irritation. Any other day, he would yell and bark about her not doing her job and nearly giving him a heart attack. But right now, he just needs to know if Steve is okay. "What room?!" He demands.

"He's in surgery right now." She replies apologetically. "But they've got a place set up for him in room 3C."

"Surgery...?" Bucky whispers, terrified. "Why? What happened?"

However, she hesitates. "I'm sorry, sir. But unless you're his direct family, I can't disclose that information until we know what condition he's-"

"_I'M THE ONLY FAMILY HE'S GOT!_" Bucky snarls furiously, slamming his fist on the counter. "_HE HASN'T GOT ANYBODY BUT ME!_"

The receptionist opens her mouth as if to argue but apparently decides against it. She sighs tiredly and sits down at her desk. "Mr. Rogers was unfortunately the victim of a stabbing." She tells him. "The cops don't know any specifics yet because he's been unconscious since they found him...but they told me they think it was a break-in at his apartment. Probably an attempted robbery."

Bucky closes his eyes as his head swirls. He feels her gentle hand on his shoulder as the receptionist tries to guide him to a chair but he weakly swats her away. _Steve was stabbed? Over a robbery? _"When...?" He asks, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Just last night." She tells him.

_Last night... Steve was stabbed last night... _Now, Bucky sits down. Although not in a chair. He sinks to the floor and leans his back against the front counter, staring blankly into space as he tries to wrap his head around it. _Last night... _Last night, while he slept peacefully in the safety of an army base, _Steve_...was stabbed. His best friend, his makeshift blood-brother...is in surgery right now. He could die. Because he was stabbed. Last night.

"Sir?" The woman asks, sounding nervous. "Are you alright? Can I get you something?"

Numbly, Bucky shakes his head. He slowly climbs to his feet but doesn't turn to face her. "Room 3C?" He rasps, earning a nod from her.

"But are you sure you'll be okay? You don't look well..."

He ignores her and instead walks down the hallway, not even bothering to look at the numbers on the doors. He's been here so many times before on routine check-ups and visits for worrisome illnesses. He knows where 3C is. Although he never thought he'd have to visit Steve there.

Because 3C is in the trauma wing...the one place Steve has never been bad enough to go.

* * *

He waits for hours on a padded bench outside room 3C, where Steve will be sent after his surgery is over. ...that is, if he survives it. At first, Bucky convinces himself Steve will be fine. He's stubborn that way. No matter how many times he gets knocked down, he always gets back up. _Always_. But after the third hour, he starts to doubt himself. After all, Steve is the same guy who can get the common cold and end up with pneumonia! Steve, who gets as asthma attack if someone blows cigar smoke in his face. Steve, who has gotten every horrible illness in the book and his body has become incredibly weak because of it.

Who's to say this won't spell the end of him...? Or, even if he does survive a few days, he might get an infection and _that_ might do the job. The more he thinks about it, the more possible it seems that his friend won't live through this. The more..._likely_ it is he'll simply die on the operating table. That his broken, run-down body will finally give up. ...that just this once, he was put down and is simply too weak to get back up...

* * *

Eventually, Bucky dozes off. Mentally and physically exhausted from the whole ordeal, he leans back against the wall and more-or-less passes out for some unknown amount of him...before he begins to hear the sound of a gurney being pushed down the hall. The young man jumps to his feet, eyes wide as if he'd been awake the entire time. And his stomach drops in horror when he sees him being rolled toward his room.

It's Steve. Paler and weaker and maybe even thinner than Bucky has ever seen him. His eyes are closed and his mouth is slightly ajar. It takes a total of four people to get him into the room. Between carting life-saving IVs and holding him still so he doesn't get jolted too much and rip his new stitches... But he gets there. And while the nurses fuss over him for a while and warn Bucky not to move him or try to wake him, they eventually leave. And Bucky is alone with Steve. Even though he just feels alone...

Despite the nurses' warnings, Buck still draws closer on legs that feel like rubber. He reaches out with a shaking hand, only to draw it back to his chest. And then he reaches out again and takes it back. After a few seconds of feeling torn, of wanting to go over and shake him awake like he does every morning when he's overslept, Bucky simply swallows and edges a little closer. "S...Steve...?" He whispers, taking in his friend's face as it gives no reaction. There's no tired moan, he doesn't roll over and pull the blankets over his head or swat Bucky's hands away. He just lays there. Still and silent and pale.

And Bucky's chest clenches at Steve's sheer lifelessness. Some part of him wonders if this is what it feels like whenever Steve has an attack because his chest hurts and he can't breathe. He has to stagger over to the wall and lean against it, even though there's a chair a few inches to his right. He sinks to the floor and pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging them like a frightened child as he stares at the form of his...'friend' doesn't _begin_ even describe it, below the white sheets of the hospital bed.

After a long moment where he just sits there and stares almost mindlessly at Steve, Bucky finally moves. He stands up on weak legs and barges over to the bed, his expression now fierce and angry as tears fill the corners of his eyes. His voice is low and threatening as he towers over his unconscious 'brother'. "Listen here, you little punk." He growls, not a hint of humor in his suddenly cold, grey eyes. "Don't you dare die. Don't you even _dare_, you hear me?! Because if you leave me, I _swear to God_, I'll...I'll...make you regret it...somehow!" Even though the threat comes across as much weaker than he'd intended, he means every word. Because, like he told the receptionist, he's the only family Steve has. But vice-versa, Steve is the only family _he_ has as well. At least the only family who's ever cared at all about him since his parents died...

Even when he had nothing, he had Steve. And now, he might even lose him too...

* * *

Days of nothing go by. Bucky doesn't go home -can't really. It's a crime scene. He just stays in the hospital with Steve. Eats at the surrounding cafes, even though he doesn't really taste the food. It's just fuel to him. Sleeps on the stiff sofa in the corner of his friend's private room, although only briefly and in little bits at a time. The nightmares always wake him up. And they're always the same. Filled with fear and blood and panic. But when he's not sleeping or eating, he's sitting by Steve's bed, staring blankly into nothingness because he's too exhausted and numb to read or listen to the radio.

He's unravelling and he knows it. But he can't bring himself to care. Not when Steve is at death's door a few inches to his right. But the doctors insist that Steve is improving, that his vitals are getting stronger and, considering his health, he's made remarkable progress. That doesn't make Bucky feel any better though. He doesn't care what they say, they said the same thing about his mother too. That she was doing fine and would get better. But she didn't. One day, she was alive and nearing recovery...and then the next she was dead. The same thing could happen to Steve. Bucky will only let himself hope if Steve wakes up.

If Steve wakes up...everything will be okay. That's what he's decided. He doesn't care that it makes no sense, that this 'decision' is based in childish hope and wishful thinking. He's_ decided_ it. If Steve opens his eyes, everything will be alright.

"_Please_ open your eyes..." He whispers gruffly into the back of his friend's hand, his forehead brushing the cool, pale skin from where he's kneeling beside the bed. "_Please_, Steve... Please...open your eyes..." His eyes sting with tears but he doesn't let them fall anymore. "Please don't do this to me..."

* * *

It happens when Bucky isn't in the room. He's just returning from another half-hearted trip to the diner across the street...when he notices the small flood of doctors and nurses lingering around room 3C.

The young soldier's face hardens, his eyes going cold because he knows what's happened. He knows Steve must be gone... Swallowing thickly, he tosses the paper cup in his hand into the trashcan and slowly, calmly walks to the door to make sure. The nurses throw him uneasy looks as he shrugs past them, some of them moving like they're going to stop him fron entering but none of them succeed.

He gets into his friend's room and finds himself standing at the foot of the bed, beside a doctor who eyes him cautiously. There's a clip board and a pen in his hands, probably to record time of death. And when the grey-haired man opens his mouth to speak, Bucky is expecting the words, 'I'm sorry'.

But that's not what he gets.

"Remember, Mr. Barnes. He's still very weak so don't go too crazy..."

Bucky turns to face him, confusion marring his severely aged features, and is about to ask what he means when he hears the weakest, most near-comically pathetic voice he's ever heard asking,

"Bucky...?"

He's pretty sure his own heart has stopped but he still looks back in the direction of the bed, previously dead grey eyes widening in sheer disbelief and mouth falling open. Lips forming words but no sound escaping.

"Buck...?" Steve asks again, even more weakly than before, his voice nothing more than brittle whisper in the silent room. "Are you...okay?"

"Am I okay...?" Bucky almost squeaks, his head shaking slowly back and forth. He feels the doctor's hand on his back, steadying him because apparently he looks as dizzy as he feels. There are so many things Bucky wants to say, to scream at him for being so _stinking_ selfless as to _dare_ ask Bucky if _he's_ okay! To yell and stomp and scold Steve for getting stabbed and put in the hospital and undergoing surgery and not waking up for days and worrying him to death and actually Bucky seriously _think_ about what life will be like without his best friend at his side every step of the way. He wants to get mad and punch something and ask what kind of a friend does that anyway! But he doesn't.

Maybe because he doesn't have the strength or the energy to get so fired up right now and maybe he'll do that later... But right now is what matters and right now Steve has opened his eyes. So right now, Bucky stops shaking his head and starts nodding it instead. "Yeah, I'm okay..." He says, unable to stop the smile before it consumes his entire being and there is one single tear rolling down both of his cheeks. His eyes are red and puffy and his head aches and he's so completely drained...but he still manages a broken laugh when Steve, as weak as he is, arcs an eyebrow in disbelief and mutters,

"You don't...look okay."

"Pretty sure that's the pot calling the kettle black, pal." He retorts as he shrugs past the nurses again, this time to go to Steve's side and sit down in the little plastic chair he's become so familiar with.

"I look that bad, huh...?" Steve sighs, his tired blue eyes roaming Bucky's face as if searching for something.

"Worse." Bucky decides, almost shivering at how sickly his friend looks. "But looks don't really matter that much, how do you feel?" He asks, noticing the amount of effort it takes for Steve to shrug.

"I've had worse..." He manages weakly.

"No you haven't." Bucky replies without hesitation. He's about to say something else, when the doctor cuts in.

"He's right, Mr. Rogers. You had a very close call."

Steve frowns slightly but doesn't say anything in retaliation. Both he and Bucky listen intently as the doctor speaks.

"I realize this time it wasn't your fault but, givin your track record and your medical history...I have to warn you that, in my honest opinion, you _can't _do this again. Your body won't be able to handle another beating like this one. It just isn't strong enough."

Bucky grimaces at the floor because Steve's disappointment and dread is almost tangible. One more close call like this one, _one more_...and his body will give out. And who knows how close of a call it needs to be to push him over the edge. One more beat-down from a back alley thug? One more really bad asthma attack? Suddenly, a feeling of outright panic begins seeping into Bucky's chest. Knowing Steve, this is practically a terminal diagnosis.

"So you need to be more careful about what you do on your spare time. I expect you to make a full recovery but you can't keep pushing yourself and getting into trouble."

"Yes sir..." Steve murmurs greyly.

"And Mr. Barnes?" The doctor asks, switching his attention to Bucky. "I know it's a lot to ask of you but I _will_ ask because I know how much you care about your friend. You need to keep an eye on him. Keep him out of trouble."

Bucky almost smirks, despite himself, at the outraged noise Steve makes beside him. He can already hear the protests of 'I don't need a babysitter!' and 'I already promised to be more careful' but he nods his head anyway. "I will, Doc." He promises, glancing sideways at Steve, who is pouting glumly at the bed sheets. "I won't let him out of my sight."

"That's good to hear." The doctor tells him, smiling. "Get some rest, Mr. Rogers." He advises. "You too, Mr. Barnes." And then he disappears out the door, along with his small parade of nurses.

As soon as they're gone, Bucky turns the rest of the way to face his ailing friend, expecting him to still look grumpy and irritated at the doctor's insinuations that he can't take care of himself. But right now, Steve only looks tired and dizzy. And Bucky sighs as he stands up to help his friend get more comfortable.

"I swear, I can't leave you for five minutes." He mumbles, shifting the cracker-thin sacks that pass for pillows around here. "Here," Steve winces, groaning in pain when Bucky tries to move him a little. "Sorry."

But the wounded young man only waves his apology away and tries to relax, despite the thobbing ache in his ribs, which has only been faintly muted by the pain killers being pumped into his arm. "Don't be...I'm just kinda sore is all."

So Bucky sinks back into the chair and offers a gentle little smile as he scratches his now-stubbled chin. "Still think you've had worse?" He asks teasingly, a throb of relief going through him at the rueful grin on his friend's face.

"Nah, I guess this one takes the cake." Steve decides, trying to shift to a more comfortable position, only to wince again and bite his lip to suppress the moan that nearly escapes.

"Well stop moving then, punk." Bucky grumps, standing again to hover over Steve like an over-protective mother hen.

"I could say the same to you, jerk!" Steve retorts darkly, earning a confused look from his friend. "I'm hurt, Buck. Not stupid. Tell me, when was the last time you slept?"

Bucky glares at him because there's no way in Hell he's turning this around on him. But the fierce look in Steve's eyes makes him sigh and say, "Last night. But not well."

"And let me guess, you came here everyday instead of going to work." Steve continues with a deep frown.

"Hmph, shows what you know." The soldier says with a dry hint of humor. "I barely even left your side."

This catches Steve off guard and his eyes grow shockingly wide for someone who feels like they're about to fall asleep at any moment. "You never even left the hospital?! Bucky! What about the rent!? What about-"

"Quiet." Bucky interrupts him, but is ignored entirely.

"This is gonna be a huge bill, Buck! We can barely make it as it is! Why would you-"

"Because I wasn't even sure you'd _survive,_ Steve!" He barks, suddenly very loud. And now he's on his feet, looming over his wounded friend looking angry and annoyed and tired and grumpy and all the negative emotions in the world. "Because my _best friend in the entire world_, the _only_ real family I have on this whole Godforsaken planet is _here_. That's why I never left. I wouldn't leave you because I was sure you were going to die! I thought I was sitting next to your death bed, Steve! _That's_ why I didn't give the rent or the bills a second thought! _THAT'S _why!"

So as it turns out, he really does have the energy to get fired up. But just enough. And by the time he's done, Bucky is so drained he has to fall straight back into his chair again and close his eyes, rubbing his temples to massage the headache out of them. "Because my stupid best friend can't stay out of trouble for two weeks and I nearly lost you because of it...and then I finally, _finally_ get you back...and you have the nerve to ask about the _bills_..."

While Bucky sits there, massaging his temples and muttering in irritation to himself, Steve goes very quiet. His pale lips press into a thin line and he lowers his gaze to the bed sheets on his lap. He's exhausted, more tired than he ever recalls feeling before and some part of him wonders how much blood he lost and how long he's been asleep. But by the way Bucky was reacting, it must have been bad. He sighs quietly and tries to relax, only to be rewarded by a sharp stab of pain in his side. This one does manage to coax a long, weak groan from him and he squeezes his eyes shut, chest shuddering with a quaking breath that rattles his aching ribs. "Buck..." He begins softly, face contorting from another wave of pain.

"Yeah, punk?" His friend replies glumly. Although his voice holds none of the anger from earlier, now he just sounds sleepy. And Steve can feel his eyes lingering on him.

"I didn't try it, you know." He mumbles dejectedly. "Scaring you, I mean..."

Bucky watches him for a moment before raking his fingers through his hair and nodding dejectedly. "I know." He says. "This time it really wasn't your fault." As a thought suddenly occurs to him, Bucky's eyes harden and his hands ball into fists, gripping the knees of his pants until his knuckles turn white. "I hope they catch the asshole who did that to you..." He growls.

"So do I." Steve sighs, his face finally relaxing as the pain fades again. "Though he seemed pretty adamant about not going to prison..."

"What do you mean?" Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs weakly and finally opens his eyes, although it's a struggle. He wishes he could just go to sleep...but at the same time, doesn't want to miss anything else. "I think that's why he...you know..._did what he did_."

Bucky expression hardens even further and he shifts uncomfortably. The amount of hatred in his eyes startling, considering he never even saw the man who did it. "Stabbed you, you mean?" But he instantly regrets saying it when Steve grimaces ruefully and places a hand over his side.

"Yeah..." Steve says, swallowing thickly. "He was probably afraid I'd be able to recognize him in a line up..."

"Well," Bucky begins as he stretches his stiff arms above his head. "Luckily for _him_, you're not going anywhere for at least a few days. Probably weeks, with your health." He finally allows a smirk for the dreary look that crosses his friend's face at the mention of staying here for so long. Steve has never liked hospitals, ever since...his mother. Plus, it doesn't help that every day he lingers here, it racks up more and more money they simply can't afford to pay.

But Bucky refused to think about the bills before and he's still refusing to think about it. Because as much of an emotional rollercoaster Steve's awakening has shaped up to be, he's still just blissfully happy his friend is alive. And for now, he doesn't want to ruin that. He'll think about reality tomorrow. But for now-

"Get some rest, punk." He says, crossing the room to the couch where he's slept these past few days. "Heaven knows we both need it."

And Steve nods obediently, not about to argue with the idea of sleep. But before he closes his eyes, the wounded man frowns and shifts a bit in his bed. "Buck, I'm fine." He insists. "You heard the doctor, I'm gonna make a full recovery. You don't have to stay here anymore."

But his friend only waves that away as he sinks onto the couch, folding his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. "Yeah, I know." He assures him. "But if it's all the same to you, Steve, I think I'll hang around a few more days... Just to make sure you don't pick any fights with your IV or somethin'."

Steve snorts in annoyance and shakes his head. "Suit yourself..." He mumbles, although he can't fight the smile that touches his lips. Shifting a bit painfully as he tries to burrow into the stiff hospital bed, Steve finally allows his eyes to shut. His voice is gruff and marred by exhaustion when he asks, "So how many hearts did you break in Virginia...?"

Bucky chuckles softly on the other end of the room. "None." He admits. "_Some_ of us keep our promises, Steve." There's a short moment of silence before he adds, "Besides, I was too busy worrying about your sorry ass to pick up any girls. Looks like my fretting wasn't in vain, though."

Steve frowns again but doesn't open his eyes. He can feel his mind slowly drifting toward sleep and he doesn't want to fight it. "I really am sorry, Buck." He mumbles.

"I know you are." Bucky replies. "And once you're not on the verge of keeling over, I'm going to make sure you regret it _even more_. But for now, shut up and go to sleep, punk." He waits for a response but doesn't get one. Cracking open one eye, Bucky peers over the foot of his friend's bed, finding Steve already peacefully asleep. Instinctively, the soldier's eyes go to his friend's chest, reveling in the ease of its movements. Satisfied that Steve will survive until morning, Bucky relaxes and finally submits to the first decent night's rest he's had since returning to New York, lulled to sleep by the knowledge that tomorrow, Steve will wake when he does. And things can _finally _start going back to normal!

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_**A/N: Thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoyed and remember, reviews make me happy! :D**_


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